Braver to Know
by tatterdemalion
Summary: This was the fifth time Canada had walked out of Denmark's life, and hopefully there wouldn't be a sixth. Not while Denmark was the king of romancing, and he totally was, no matter what France said. An examination of DenCan.
1. One

**Note: **I read this DenCan fic where the chick was all, "I feel I'm the only person who will ever write DenCan". I feel like she has never been on kinkmeme. You can find anything you want on there! I mean, if you can find Shinatty/China, I'm sure you can find DenCan. Seriously! Anyways, DenCan is cute. I wanted to try writing it, so...here we go!

* * *

This was the seventh time in two years that Matthew Williams had woken up in a bed that wasn't his own. He was in a hotel room, probably in the same hotel where he was staying for the Arctic Council meeting in Copenhagen - there was a suit jacket thrown over the chair, Matthew's jeans, boxers and hoodie on the floor, and a very familiar battle axe propped up against the television (how did that get past security?). Matthew groaned as he sat up, sheets damp under his body, and looked around for his glasses. It was only when the bed shifted did he realize he wasn't alone.

Mikkel Søndergaard, personification of Denmark, was propped up on his side, staring at him with a little smirk on his face.

"Man, you really can't hold your alcohol, can you, Canuck?"

Matthew turned red, blurted out, "I am _so_ sorry!" and, finding his glasses on the side table, tried to make his escape.

"Hey, you gonna stick around for breakfast or what?" Mikkel wanted to know, reaching out to put a hand on Matthew's shoulder. Matthew pulled away.

"Look, I'm really sorry." he repeated. "I get sort of...weird when I'm drunk, so if I did or said anything strange..."

"Don't you remember anything?" Mikkel sat up, propping his elbows up on his knees. His brow was creased, though that teasing smile remained. Matthew couldn't bear to look him in the eye.

"Y-yeah, sort of." he admitted. "We were down in the bar with, um - with Norway and Finland and the others, and Alfred said I couldn't beat you in a drinking contest - "

"Yeah okay but do you remember the part where we made out?" Mikkel wanted to know, a little impatiently. Seriously, he really just wanted to go back to bed until his hangover went away, and it would be all the better if the other blond would come with him too.

Matthew tried looking at the door, wondering how long it would take him to sprint, naked, and escape.

"Uh huh, I remember that part."

"And the elevator? Because man, you can really - "

"_Yes okay_ I remember that too." Matthew blurted out.

Mikkel tilted his head. "So? What's the big deal? We don't have a meeting until the afternoon. I vote going back to bed..."

Shaking his head, Matthew was up. "Look, I don't usually..._do_ these things, okay? It's just, I was really drunk..." he trailed off awkwardly, hoping the other nation would get the hint. Mikkel's usually present smile dropped off his face.

"Oh. Okay." he nodded, and kindly turned away so Matthew could gather his clothing up off the floor and cover himself.

Awkwardly, Matthew dressed and combed his head back with his fingers. "Er...then, I'll see you later...?"

"So if we had gone out on a date first, would you have stayed?" Mikkel asked. Matthew faltered, fiddled with the zipper on his jacket.

"I have to go," he muttered. "And you know...you know it doesn't work that way for us."

Mikkel propped himself up on the headboard as he watched the blond he'd had his eyes on for years walk out of his hotel room and out of his life for the fifth time.

* * *

_Back...1904_

It had been so long since Denmark had seen his pretty Alexandra, with her beautiful red hair and elegant long face, so his formal exchange with England was cut short in favor of fawning over this fashionable thing currently married to Edward VII. As such, he missed the little waif standing behind England's chair, watching the exchange between monarch and nation with amusement. It was only when Denmark looked up and their eyes met was he struck with a sense of familiarity.

"Oi, you're that kid from the North, right?" he asked, letting go of Alexandra's hand and pointing. The kid shrunk back, unsure.

"Uh...yes. I'm, I'm the Dominion of Canada, Mr. Denmark." he said politely. "It's nice to see you again, Her Highness talks a lot about you."

Again, Denmark thought, and was able to dredge up a couple of fuzzy memories of some strange, dark-featured child lurking in the snow drifts as Denmark's people, all those hundreds of years ago, set up camps and burned fires. Shrugging, he directed a sunny smile at the kid.

"All good things, of course." he prompted, causing Alexandra to laugh quietly and start a story of Mikkel's antics at court when she was still Princess of Wales. Her husband, Edward, watched her fondly from his place in his armchair by the fire. England, who remembered the incident in question, frowned. The Dominion of Canada laughed, a little tinkling sound that Denmark rather liked.

Afterwards, when Edward had retired back to his rooms and Alexandra was stitching by the fire, Denmark found Canada in the study. The kid was nervously shuffling through papers with a little bit of awe, as if still taking in the idea of being, legally now, a country.

"It takes a while, doesn't it?" Denmark asked, slipping up behind him. Canada jumped.

"Stupid goddamn parliament," the blond continued, "it'll make your hair fall out."

Canada laughed weakly. "It, it is definitely a hassle at times."

Denmark leaned onto the chair, close enough to get a smell of the kid, something fruity but not effeminate. His blond hair, long enough to almost touch his shoulders, was pulled back in a tail, despite England's current fondness for short haircuts on men.

Canada chanced a glance over his shoulder, as if nervous at how close Denmark was getting. "Do...are you enjoying your stay in England, Mr. Denmark?" he asked.

"Oh yeah. It's always nice to visit England, such a sweet and welcoming fellow." Denmark drawled, relishing the giggle Canada had to stifle. "Love seeing his smiling face."

"Stop," Canada laughed, "That's terrible. Arthur was pleased to see you, I could tell."

"Oh?" Raising his eyebrows and ignoring the familiar name, Denmark pressed, "Then you've figured out how to read him! Great, mind teaching me some of that magic?"

This dissolved the kid into giggles again, until a healthy red decorated his face. Denmark couldn't help reaching out and put his hand on Canada's head - the kid stilled, looking up at him with wary eyes.

"You've grown a bit, haven't'cha?" Denmark remarked. "I remember when you were a little thing, looked like a girl..."

"Yeah, a lot of things have changed." Canada said, quickly and maybe a little brusquely - and rightly so, Denmark thought, because he could remember a time, not even that long ago, past the time of his "Vinland", when Canada's hair wasn't blond. Abruptly, Canada stood, leaving his papers behind.

"Can I escort you anywhere? England is in the parlor, still."

Denmark took that as the hint to leave - but as Canada moved to lead him out of the room Denmark looked back on the papers - not documents at all but blank writing paper.

"_Dear Alfie_," said the top one, in spidery scrawl, "_I'm scared that this "dominion" thing isn't all it's cracked up to be..._"

* * *

_Present...Hotel Dining Room_

"Hey, Norge." Denmark said thoughtfully as he speared a waffle with his fork. Norway looked straight ahead and hoped Denmark wouldn't continue.

"If you wanted to woo someone, what would you do?"

Sweden choked on his omelet. Norway looked over at him.

"Why are you asking?" he wanted to know. Iceland sat and prayed it wasn't Norway that Denmark was after.

Canada stumbled into the dining room, skillfully avoiding the entire Nordic table, and after piling several waffles onto a buffet plate, went to join his brother's table, where he promptly, in his red-faced haste, upturned the jug of maple syrup onto the tablecloth.

Denmark propped his chin up on his hand. "Lots of flowers, right?" he asked, distracted.

Norway and Iceland exchanged dubious glances. Finland contemplated getting more hash browns.

* * *

**Note:** On a totally unrelated note, I got to the party late and realized Himaruya had like, churned out all these potential names for unnamed Hetalia characters. Is it bad I feel sad that "Lars" is no longer going to be used for the Netherlands? Is it sad that's as influential to this fandom as I'm ever going to be and now it's going to be forgotten? Haha but I really like the name "Tim". It's so bitching!


	2. Deux

**Note:** Sorry for the wait! I keep doing this, haha. But I'm back now. Hope you like the next chapter!

* * *

"Hey baby, why don't we talk about our international linkages?"

Canada, halfway through sorting his notes, paused and looked up in confusion. Sitting across the table from him, in a seat supposed to be occupied by Russia, was Denmark with a large grin. There were a bunch of red carnations wrapped in wax paper in front of him.

"Did you...did you just use a political pick up line?" Canada wanted to know, a hesitant smile creeping onto his face. Nodding, Denmark picked up the carnations and offered them to him.

"Here. To apologize for freaking you out."

Flushing, Canada took a moment before reaching forward to accept the gift. "You really didn't have to..."

Denmark just grinned again. "It's no big deal. I'm sorry by the way," he added, quickly, as Canada traced gentle fingers over the petals. "I didn't mean to freak you out...but, what did I do wrong? I really - "

"Denmark." Canada interrupted with a little sigh, brows furrowing. "I don't really want to talk about it. Okay? It's in the past, let's just...let's just move on."

Denmark shrugged, and extended his hand. "All right, then, friends?"

Canada reached out to join their hands, a relieved look flitting across his face. "Definitely." he agreed, as Denmark softly pressed his thumb into the side of Canada's hand. "Friends."

* * *

_Back - 1920_

Canada wasn't about to say that he was "shirking his duties", which was what England would have called it if he knew that the reason Canada had crossed the ocean just to deliver papers was that he wanted to explore Europe for a little bit. Sure, the Great War had expanded his traveling experience but not at all in the way any sane person would want. After being privy to destruction and death, all Canada wanted to do was see what the great continent had to offer without dodging shrapnel in a trench. As soon as the papers were sorted in London, Canada crossed the Channel onto the mainland and started off. The first few stops were no brainers - to The City of Light, of course, where France welcomed him with open arms (a little _too_ open; Canada laughed and gently declined the other nation's offer to bunk in the same bed). He stopped by Brussels and Amsterdam, greeting Belgium and the Netherlands enthusiastically - the siblings, though sometimes tense following the Great War, were unarguably two of the best countries to entertain someone, and their enthusiastic offers of an extended stay were almost enough to tempt him.

As he moved further central, Canada hesitated - Soviet territory was still a sticky situation, and the recent scuffle against the Soviets by the Poles and the Ukrainian Republic had Canada wary of intruding. Instead he headed north - it wasn't often that he visited the Nordics, and after a short stop in Germany he crossed the border to Denmark.

With the recent acquisition of northern Schleswig, Canada was expecting Denmark to be in a good mood - but he wasn't expecting Denmark to welcome him with such open arms.

"Hell yeah, welcome to Europe!" Denmark crowed, pulling him into his house in Copenhagen. "We haven't seen you around here a lot...you need to fix that!"

"Well, it's hard to get some time to travel all this way..." Canada mumbled as he was dragged into the sitting room, where Denmark offered him a chair to sit down in before sitting in the one opposite. There was a brief, awkward silence, and Canada cleared his throat. Sure, he _knew_ Denmark but they never talked, and he wasn't sure if they had anything in common.

"H-how is your royal family?" he finally asked, trying to look every which way but at the nation in front of him.

Denmark nodded, looking a little disappointed at the conversation choice. "Good. How are things on your side of the ocean? Managing okay after your first?"

Canada frowned. "My first...?"

"You know," Denmark motioned with his hands. "You never forget your first. And what a way to start out, eh?"

"Oh!" Canada thought, briefly, of all his young, dead, sons. "Yes. What a way."

Denmark gave him a sympathetic look. "You get used to it, if that helps." he offered.

"I'm not sure that really helps," Canada said, forcing a smile. "Thank you though."

Denmark coughed a little, before excusing himself in order to get Canada something to drink. Left alone in the sitting room Canada covered his face with his hands.

"Stupid!" he muttered. "How embarrassing!" He wouldn't be surprised if Denmark was regretting ever letting Canada into his house.

"Stupid." Denmark was saying to himself as he fumbled around in the liquor cabinet. "Probably thinks you're making fun of him."

Denmark came back, with a forced smile and a glass of alcohol, which he handed to the younger country.

"So!" he said, jovially. "How's your brother doing?"

"Oh. Fine." Canada hesitated. "How are Iceland? Norway?"

Denmark suppressed a grimace. "You know...being themselves."

Canada had to laugh at this - Denmark, a little startled, regained his composure and flashed him a brilliant smile.

"Want to start on dinner?"

In the kitchen, Canada leaned awkwardly against the counter, content on watching Denmark pull out a big skillet.

"What are you making?" Canada asked quietly.

"_Æbleflæsk_!" Denmark announced. "It's traditional, so you can't say you don't want to eat it!"

Canada laughed, hopping up on the counter. "Why wouldn't I want to eat it?" he wanted to know, repeating the word in his mouth, rolling it over and over on his tongue. "_Æbleflæsk_. _Æbleflæsk_."

Denmark tried not to wince at his pronunciation, out of politeness.

Canada watched Denmark as he banged around in the kitchen. The older nation's cooking style suited him - loud, enthusiastic, joyful. Denmark grinned while he peeled apples, whistled as he trimmed pork, knocked his elbow against the silverware drawer and sang out a cheerful curse.

Canada had never seen anything so beautiful. Flushing, he was content to watch the Dane's back, long, muscled legs constantly moving and fidgeting, arms swinging carelessly, with no regard for closed spaces or delicate dishes.

Denmark, with a look over his shoulder, caught Canada staring, and the grin that followed brought blood rushing to the younger nation's face.

"Do I have something on my shirt?" Denmark teased. Canada stared very hard at the cutlery drawer.

"N-no, never mind." he mumbled.

As Denmark turned back to his cooking, he racked his brain for a way to bring the young nation out of his shell. His curiosity had been piqued, but he could sense hesitation, trepidation. The way the blond kept his knees pressed together, whole body tense, face hopeful but closed off, made Denmark anxious to see another side. So, he turned to what he always relied on to loosen people up.

Descending the stairs to the cellar, Denmark brought up two bottles of dark beer and handed one off to Canada.

"Here."

"Oh!" Canada eyed it dubiously, and accepted the bottle opener that followed. "Thanks..."

Silence ensued, as Canada politely sipped on his drink.

"Okay, I'm almost done!" Denmark turned to him, taking a large swig from his bottle. "Hurry up and drink, kid, that beer isn't going to get up and fly away on its own!" As Canada hastened to comply, Denmark added, "And set the table wouldja? I need to get this dish together."

Choking the beer down, Canada scrambled to his feet. Denmark, with a kindly hand on his shoulder, directed him to the cutlery drawer. This gave the older nation an opportunity to examine Canada as he went trotting across the kitchen floor, a mass of nerves and excitement. His hands, however, stayed calm, and still, and Denmark paused to take in the way Canada handled the silverware, placing each with European precision. Made sense, Denmark thought as Canada skirted the table, fixing the place mats, if you consider who he was raised by.

_Æbleflæsk_, Canada found out when Denmark set it down on the table, was a combination of bacon, apple, onions, and sugar. Denmark served it with a dark, rectangular loaf of bread, which he sliced for Canada.

Canada found himself pushing the combination onto his piece of bread with a fork, brazenly using his fingers (a no no, normally!) to catch stray pieces that fell, taking large mouthfuls to avoid the mess that followed. Denmark tore bits of bread to fork-sized pieces and tempered sourdough with sweet-salty.

Chewing thoughtfully, Canada propped his chin up in his hand and watched Denmark for a minute.

"Mr. Denmark - " he began, but Denmark waved at him.

"Hey, hey, none of that - it's Mikkel, got it?"

"M-Mikkel." Canada corrected himself. "Did - do you remember much about when you were young?"

Denmark raised his eyebrows. "You sayin' I'm old?" he said jokingly, and watched Canada's expression turn to one of panic.

"N-n-not at all - !"

"Calm down, I'm teasing." Denmark mirrored Canada's chin-in-hand routine, balancing the tines of his fork on the edge of his plate.

_Cute_, he couldn't help thinking as Canada straightened out his napkin in embarrassment. His expression turned serious, and he hummed in thought.

"To be honest, it _was_ a long time ago," he admitted. "It's not as if I can pick out details. Why?"

Canada shrugged, bashfully. "It's just...the last few decades have been - they've been a lot to handle." He paused, looked down at his lap, picked at the last of his meal. His beer bottle sat on the table, warm and almost flat. "I've wanted to be independent for a while, and now I have it and I should be happy, and I _am_, I'm not saying I'm not...but now there are so many dead boys and - and - " Canada turned beautiful, wide violet eyes on him. "How do you _deal_ with it?"

Denmark considered the question, took a piece of apple between his teeth. "I wish I had something for you, kid." he spoke. "When I grew up, and when you grew up, we're talking about different worlds, here. My people flourished in a time that shaped who I was, and not always in a good way. You younger countries - you, your brother, even Germany - you have to deal with things I didn't have to deal with...and you miss out on the things I did. So I figure, I can't give you a blueprint, here. I can tell you some bullshit - be strong, don't pick fights you can't back up, if allies have fucked you over in the past don't try to make them your allies again - but you don't really want to hear that, do you?"

After a second of silence, Canada shook his head, reached up to tuck a wayward curl behind his ear.

"Yeah, I thought so. Listen, the ugly truth? You learn through experience. So you're going to make mistakes, and you're gonna lose lives. That's just the way it goes. And I hope you weren't thinking you'd get an easy ride 'cause you're young."

"Of course not!" Canada shouted, face red. "I wouldn't! It's just...I'm scared I'll mess up. I'm scared England will think I can't handle this. And I don't want that."

Denmark shifted, a little uncomfortably, eyeing the half-full bottle of beer like it could give him a clue to why this young nation was suddenly spilling everything to him. "Maybe you should talk to someone your own age?" he suggested, adding, "You talk to your brother about this?"

Canada shook his head, reaching out to trail his fingers along the neck of his beer bottle. "I don't feel like I can. He has his own stuff, you know? And I know he thinks I'm his boring brother up north who couldn't possibly have any troubles..."

"Your brother's the closest friend you've got." Denmark said, almost scoldingly. "Trust me, kid. It's a blessing for a nation to trust his neighbour the way you two do. Don't ever forget that."

Canada nodded. "I understand." he agreed, offering a shaky smile. "Thank you. I needed that."

Denmark smiled back. "No problem, kid. Now, drink up, what did I tell you?"

"Sorry!"

* * *

Denmark didn't consider himself creepy. Really. Norway could say what he liked, but Denmark was perfectly aware of boundaries, even if he considered them...flexible. With the right people, of course!

He had really only come into the guest room because he thought the window was leaking - although Denmark could forget how old he was, he couldn't forget how old his house was, and the guest room window had been giving him trouble for weeks. He had opened the door softly, padded across the length of the room and pushed aside the curtains to lay his palm on the sill. Satisfied with the feel of dry wood under his hand, Denmark turned and found himself leaning against the window, watching the shifting figure sleeping in the bed.

Canada sighed, curling a loose fist under his pillow, corners of his lips twitching before slackening once more. Denmark was lost for words, and if Canada _had_ woken up he doubted he could've even made a good excuse about why he was there.

And maybe Denmark, looking at this pale, northern boy, felt a little bit of nostalgia, of longing...but this was a different time, a different place than Norway's snowy Vinland, and Denmark crossed back to the door, shutting it softly behind him.

Canada opened his eyes, pressing his cheek against the coolness of his pillow, and exhaled.

* * *

A week later, Canada found himself standing awkwardly on Denmark's front step, suitcase in hand.

"Well, thank you so much again." Canada said, offering a smile. "I had a lot of fun."

"Yeah. Me too." Denmark scratched his ear. "You were a good guest, kid. I liked showing you around."

Canada's smile widened, and without warning he placed his suitcase down and clasped Denmark's hand, warmly.

"Thank you for all your help." he said, sincerely. "I really appreciated it, and I'm sorry if I was out of line, or..."

Denmark squeezed his fingers around the slender, cold palm in his, felt his pulse beat faster.

"You weren't, at all." he said without thinking. "You were perfect."

The colour of Canada's face made Denmark laugh, and he didn't take the statement back.

* * *

_Present...Copenhagen_

When Canada walked into the empty conference room, having doubled back to search for a forgotten portfolio he found Denmark, back to the door, sitting on the table practicing his speech for the next day. The window was shining sunset light through the spikes of his hair and Canada paused, breathless. Suddenly he felt young again, standing in the doorway of Denmark's clustered kitchen, being told to "stop hovering and siddown, that's what those chairs are there for!"; playing cards with biscuits as stakes; Denmark messing around with the two terriers who lived next door; spoiling the little girl that owned them with sweets and licorice from a bowl that always sat on his kitchen table...

Denmark was mumbling something under his breath, waving a hand around in the air - initially Canada thought he was rehearsing his presentation, when he caught what was actually being said.

"So I thought that, you know, we could get a coffee after the conference...no, fuck, he'll just say no...so I think we should talk about the presentation after, I have a couple of...shit."

Canada cleared his throat, averting his eyes as Denmark whirled around, eyes a little panicked.

"Hey!" Denmark said, a little too loudly, snatching up some papers and shuffling them mindlessly. "I was just...going over some stuff. You headed to dinner?"

"Yeah." Canada smiled at him. "Just came back for my papers. Seen them?"

Turned out Denmark was sitting on them. After apologizing and handing them over, Denmark gave him a hesitant smile.

"So...I'll see you later?"

Canada nudged him gently with his elbow. "I'll walk with you to dinner, if you're going."

"Oh, right! Yeah, totally. Let's go!" As if on cue, the taller nation's stomach growled and he bounded to the door. "I hope they're serving fish!"

Laughing, Canada quickened his pace to catch up with his counterpart. "You always hope they're serving fish."

"Do not!"

"You Scandinavians and your fish..."

"We are sea-faring people, okay - !"

* * *

**Note:** Sorry for the wait D: Also, the "meaning" of red carnations is "my heart aches for you" or "admiration".


	3. Tre

**A/N:** HAPPY CANADA DAY! Recently I was accepted to spend my third year of university on exchange to a university in France. I'm visiting relatives in Ontario for Canada Day, and like never before I watch the maple leaves and the red'n'white pass by me and feel a sense of nostalgia. I don't know how I'm going to take a year away from this country. I was born here, raised here, and have never left the country for longer than a couple of weeks

Happy Canada Day - Bonne fête du Canada. I hope wherever you live, however you feel about your government/your province/your state/your city, I hope you remember all the good things about your country, why you love it, and how lucky you are to be there. Je vous aime.

* * *

At dinner, Denmark kept glancing over at Canada, watching as the young nation helped himself to some peas, as he cut his filet and chatted with Russia. Norway, perturbed, watched Denmark watching Canada, how the axe-wielding nation finished his dinner slowly, attention distracted.

Iceland watched the waiter, always running out of ice water before the man could get around to their table.

"Listen," Norway said seriously, pulling Denmark away before coffee was delivered. "If you're going to go through with this, go through with this. If you wait too long, you'll end up making things worse."

Denmark nodded absently. "So you're saying I should go for seconds before the buffet closes, right?"

He received a punch in the gut so hard he was wheezing all the way through dessert. Whatever sympathy Norway had for Denmark's plight disappeared.

Canada watched the two Nordic nations interact in between bites, absently registering Russia's words. He could tell they were close, despite their differences, and felt a little envious. Denmark was clearly affectionate towards the shorter man - the worst Canada had to deal with was America, who would occasionally deliver back-breaking hugs.

"You are listening, I hope?" Russia's voice filtered through his thoughts and Canada turned back to his neighbour, eyebrows raised apologetically.

"I am, I promise." he lied.

"Good. There will be a test later." Russia declared and, at Canada's surprised expression, added, "It is a joke?"

Canada laughed. "Your jokes are always the funniest." he assured the Slavic nation, whose face lit up.

After dinner, the nations loitered in the lounge, sharing drinks and talking amongst each other. America and Canada settled at a booth, and were joined shortly by Sweden and Finland. Canada bought a round of beer. Denmark sidled up to Iceland, who was sitting with Norway at the bar.

"Go away." Norway said.

"Oh, c'mon." Denmark wheedled. "I said I was sorry."

Norway pointed over at America's booth. "Go sit over there."

"Awww." Denmark whined, but obligingly got up and wandered over.

Canada, who had been spiritedly talking with Finland about junior league hockey results, looked up to see Denmark standing awkwardly by his shoulder.

"Hi!" he said, maybe a little too loud. "Want to sit down?"

Denmark nodded and Canada made his brother reluctantly scoot over so Denmark could fold his long legs into the booth. Sweden stared him down, and Denmark winked.

"More beer!" he called to the bartender, and Canada protested, "I'm hardly done this one!"

"Well, now you'll have two." Denmark tapped the nation's bottle with his knuckle. "Drink up."

"Not two nights in a row." Canada said, warningly, and he meant more than just the hangover as he raised his beer to take another sip.

Denmark laughed, nudged Canada jokingly with his elbow. They were packed into the booth, their knees touching, and Canada looked over at him with a reluctant little smile.

"You're so weird." he said, and nudged back. Sweden and Finland watched the exchange with incredulous expressions.

Canada was so close to the other nation that he could smell the sweet gel he used in his hair - the mix of musk and beer, sweat on his brow from the stuffy lounge. Their knees brushed together and absently Canada pressed against Denmark's thigh. Denmark made a little noise, and when Canada looked over the other was grinning, looking self-satisfied. Canada flushed, so red that even America looked suspicious.

"You been drinking before this?" America asked. "Your face is all red."

"Hot." Canada managed and quietly excused himself from the booth, forcing Denmark up out of his seat, heading for the bathroom.

Under the fluorescent lighting, Canada braced his arms against the counter, examining himself in the mirror. Despite his better judgement while sober, he had slept with Denmark, had accepted flowers from him, had practically flirted with him in front of his brother. He had thought the situation could easily have been rendered black and white - forget about the one night stand, forget about any romantic interactions he'd had with the Nordic nation. This was supposed to be professional, this was supposed to be...

"Are you okay?" Canada looked away from his pasty reflection to see Denmark pushing the bathroom door open. He managed a smile.

"Yeah, fine. I'm just tired, I think."

"Canada." At his name, Canada turned from the mirror to properly face the older nation, eyebrows drawn down.

"It's true." he insisted. "Time zones."

Denmark stepped closer, slowly, as if afraid Canada would bolt again. "You seemed fine until just a few minutes ago."

"Fatigue can hit quickly," Canada nodded, "I should probably - "

Denmark placed his hand on Canada's shoulder, hand warm, calloused and firm.

Canada took in a breath. "Denmark, what is it exactly that you want?"

"Mm?" Denmark's other hand landed on Canada's waist, drawing the two of them closer. "I dunno, but I wish you'd let me find out."

Canada flushed. "Don't try to turn this around on me!"

"I have this image in my head of you, last night, in that elevator, pressed up against that glass." Denmark spoke over him, running his tongue along the seam of his lips, voice husky. "You were amazing. What's the harm in another night like that? Or another two nights, or three?"

"It's - " Canada bit hard on the inside of his mouth to distract himself from Denmark's hand, currently sliding slowly around to brace itself on the counter behind them, trapping the younger nation in his place.

"It's complicated."

"Doesn't have to be." Denmark leaned down so their noses were touching. "Can I kiss you?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Canada finally responded.

"Why are you asking so many questions?" Denmark teased. "C'mon, what's one kiss?"

Canada studied him wryly, then slowly grasped him by the knot of his tie, tugging Denmark's head down a little more. "Just one." he warned.

Denmark grinned and pressed their lips together softly, slowly. Canada tasted beer and leaned forward into him, letting a little snuff of air out through his nose, pursing into the kiss, feeling his muscles relax under the fluorescent lights. Memories materialized on the edges of his subconscious, of Denmark smiling lazily down at him in the elevator, kissing his neck, brushing fingers over his collarbone with slow reverence.

They separated; Denmark raised his eyebrows expectantly as Canada absently licked his bottom lip. "Another?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm." Canada nodded, grabbed him back by the tie and kissed him again. This time Denmark pushed the younger nation back against the counter, one hand cupping his face, pushing deeper. Their tongues met; Denmark lapped softly against the inside of Canada's mouth, while the younger nation wrapped his hand around Denmark's tie reflexively, fist clenching. It tightened to the point of discomfort but Denmark didn't mind, as long as the other nation was (finally!) responding.

Pressing his luck, Denmark reached out to slide a hand past the collar of Canada's dress shirt, to warm skin; Canada caught his wrist and pulled back, tongue sliding back between his lips, face red.

"Not here." he murmured; then his eyes widened as he realized what he'd said.

Denmark looked like he'd just been given a puppy for Christmas. "But somewhere else?" he asked hopefully.

"I - " Canada stammered, and moved away from the sink, over to the door, and Denmark felt his chance slipping away.

"Go on a date with me." Denmark blurted out, quickly. "Just one date. After the meeting tomorrow, we can go for coffee. It will take an hour of your time."

Canada paused by the bathroom door and considered. "I like coffee." he said, quietly. "I'll wait for you after the meeting?"

Denmark grinned brightly.

* * *

_Back - 1973_

Canada was angry.

Well, no. Canada was annoyed, more like. For years the subject of Hans Island had been a sore spot between his government and Denmark's (_claimed because of Greenland, my ass!_). He was sitting across a table from Denmark, the copy of a border treaty between them, highlighted, underlined with pencil, pen scribbled in the margins. Canada idly tapped his nails against his coffee cup.

"You look unhappy." Denmark's voice was even, devoid of teasing. Looking up, Canada caught the older nation looking over at him, fingertips brushing over the pages.

Canada raised his eyebrows in an attempt to soften his face.

"No, sorry." he half-lied. "I'm just thinking."

Denmark looked down at the draft again. "C'mon, this'll put everything to rest, right? We'll agree to disagree."

Canada nodded, reluctantly. Alfred could say what he wanted ("What, you want _that_ thing? That little rock out there? Matt. Pick your battles."), but that island had been mapped thoroughly by Canadians and - and - he had just as much claim to it as Denmark!

The creeping feeling of being _entitled_ to something, regardless of it being a "little rock", was a little stinging to abandon, all the same.

God, he was starting to sound like England...

"Agree to disagree." Canada repeated, and sighed. "Well, then we're done here."

"Hey, think of it this way." Denmark cajoled. "It's like...getting joint custody of a pet or something. Or getting married."

Before Denmark could correct that stray thought with a "sort of", Canada froze, looking like a deer in the headlights. Denmark, in a teasing mood after the seriousness of the meetings, decided to push him a little.

"Mm, I wouldn't mind moving in with you in Canada." he teased playfully. "We can share a room. Maybe one day Hans will get a little nation baby and we'll look after him together. Instead of making him go to mum's house one weekend and dad's house the other weekend."

"A-and who would be the mum, exactly?" Canada exclaimed without thinking, covering his mouth afterwards. "As if that would happen!"

"He'd have my eyes." Denmark sighed dreamily, and Canada resisted the vicious urge to kick him under the table.

"Who said I wouldn't want to move to Copenhagen?" the younger nation shot back.

"That's acceptable." Denmark laughed. "My bed is plenty big enough for you."

Flushing, Canada stood up. "We're done here." he repeated, firmly, a weak smile on his face. "I imagine my department will want to look this over but it seems correct."

"Canada." the blond turned at his name, and Denmark was standing, brows furrowed.

"Why do you care so much about this thing?" he asked. "I mean...c'mon, it's a rock. A little thing. Wouldn't it be better if I just took it?" Denmark wore a cajoling smile. "Look, it's not going to do you much good. It's already so close to Greenland anyways."

"Then why do _you_ want it?" Canada snapped suddenly, acridly. "If it is so _worthless_?"

Denmark's sheepish grin fueled a burning in Canada's blood.

"You're all the same," he said without thinking. "You Europeans, always taking - "

"_You Europeans_?" Denmark repeated with a sudden frown. "For all your condemnation of Europe you certainly don't seem to mind when it works out in _your_ favour." Pausing, Denmark continued, "And how very _European_ of you, to be encroaching on a piece of rock that should very well be mine. Just because you missed out on the whole exploration phase doesn't mean you need to relive it now, like some spoiled kid."

Canada stood, staring, face frozen into something so terrible that Denmark realized he'd hit it right on the mark, and that it frightened the Canadian to hear someone else say it out loud.

"Get out." Canada hissed through his teeth. "Get out of my country."

He turned on his heel and stormed away, leaving Denmark sitting alone in the empty conference room.

* * *

When Canada was mad, he walked fast. He came tearing down Parliament Hill, took a sharp turn at the street lights, and ended up overlooking the monument for the Unknown Soldier. He power-walked it past a couple with a baby stroller, breezed through a crowd of people taking pictures of the monument, and high-tailed it to a public bench. He was sweating and gross and his bangs were sticking to his forehead but Canada didn't care.

Who the hell did Denmark think he was? Coming in when they were trying to _end this thing_ and telling him all these things, these offensive, untrue -

_But they are true_, said a little voice, nastily, in the back of his head. _For all that it offends you, he's right_.

Canada squelched that thought under foot by getting up and finding somewhere to eat.

* * *

Denmark had never been to Ottawa. As he wandered Sparks Street, pushing past the throngs of people that milled the many venues, he half-listened to the conversations around him in several different languages as he tried to follow his nose to a source of food.

Wasn't Canada's house somewhere around here? Denmark didn't know, nor did he care. His pride was stinging from the way Canada had just _ordered_ him to leave...like he had any say about whether their prime ministers wanted them to leave or not. So he had been yelled at, unable to take a flight back without his prime minister (unless he wanted a lecture about behaving) so, feeling scorned and foolish, he had gotten his jacket, left a brief note for the Minister of Foreign Affairs about where he was going. ('Gooooone out ;) ;) ;) Mikkel'), and left.

("Goddammit." Olve Guldberg said when he discovered the note taped to his folder in the conference room. "He always does this.")

So here Denmark was, a steakhouse on one side of the street, a Lebanese food place on the other, and sore pride all around.

Turning from the menu that had been hanging outside the steakhouse, Denmark came face to face with a startled looking Canada, who had emerged from the Lebanese place across the street holding an open Styrofoam container full of _kibbeh_. The younger blond's eyes widened - then, he turned sharply to his left and began walking very quickly down the street.

With a snort of displeasure, Denmark started after him. At the very least, if he calmed the other nation down, his prime minister couldn't get _too_ mad that the meeting didn't go exactly as planned...

Remembering public protocol, Denmark caught up easily to his counterpart and huffed out, "_Williams_. Slow down, will ya?"

Canada reluctantly slowed his steps, embarrassed and unwilling to give up the dignity that would be lost if he burst into a full sprint away from a fellow nation.

They stared at each other. The tension rose. Denmark racked his brain for something to say (something that didn't involve "_I was wrong_" or "_Please give me Hans Island_") and instead stared directly at the Styrofoam container in Canada's hand and asked:

"Can I have one?"

Canada blinked a couple times. Then, a reluctant giggle left him, followed by another, and another.

They ended up loitering awkwardly on the corner, picking at the _kibbeh_ until there was nothing but the greasy napkin left in the container. Then Canada sighed and lifted his eyes to Denmark's.

"Sorry." he apologized. "You were - you were right. I needed to hear that. I don't like this agreement any more than you do. But I have a lot on my plate right now and I guess I just got really angry."

Denmark shook his head. "I wasn't right. It was my fault. We've been talking about this for so long, I'm impatient sometimes."

Canada gave him a shy smile. "It's both our faults, if you want." he admitted. "I just...want to put this behind us. I don't usually do this, I usually have great foreign relations."

Denmark resisted the urge to crack a dirty joke. Canada looked at him like he already had, but a reluctant grin was creeping onto his face.

"Want to get a coffee?" he asked, and in the din of Ottawa's streets Denmark had never heard a more beautiful question

* * *

_Present...Copenhagen_

Denmark felt like they were back, squabbling over _kibbeh_ on the streets of Ottawa, drinking black coffee by Parliament Hill. Canada, unused to thick, dark coffee, drank in silence, trying to hide his occasional grimacing from the European nation, hand wrapped around a cheap, stained coffeehouse mug. Denmark sat, arms thrown back over the back of the booth they were sitting in, watching steam curl up off his coffee.

"So." Canada started, unsure. "You, uh - you come to this shop often?"

Denmark laughed. "Never! Just found it on my iPhone!"

Canada rolled his eyes. "You would..."

Sobering, the younger nation looked at him with a sigh. "What do you expect to get out of this, Den - Mikkel? I appreciate the effort but - "

"Why do you always have to worry about what's going to happen _next_?" Denmark asked. "Nothing needs to be planned out. Yeah, we slept together," he waited for the inevitable flinch, but Canada did a good job of hiding it, "but it happened and some other things are maybe going to happen. Is that so bad?"

At Canada's unamused look, Denmark heaved a sigh and propped his head up in his hands.

"_Darling_." he huffed, ignoring the resulting fluster from his companion. "We've lived for ages. Both of us have, and I'm _not_ calling you young so don't get all upset. But you're acting like you're twenty. _Live_ a little."

"There's nothing wrong with a little foresight, you know." Canada said a little grumpily. "Not that _you'd_ know, though."

"No, there's nothing wrong with a _little_." Denmark agreed placidly. "But there's something wrong with being _over_ cautious. Right?"

Canada still didn't look convinced, and Denmark shook his head. "Think about it." he urged. "Your people never got anything done by just being prepared for it. Neither did mine."

"People never got much done by charging headfirst into something regardless of the consequences, either." Canada pointed out. Denmark grinned.

"You'll notice I'm not asking you to do _that_, either." he retorted. "That's why we have something called..._balance_. You should try it sometime."

It took ten minutes of awkward coffee sipping before Canada looked off out the window, looked back into Denmark's eager face, and said, "One more date. We'll go out for dinner, okay? My treat. As an apology."

Denmark nodded, and let Canada (momentarily) think that he would be paying.

* * *

**A/N: **Some points about Hans Island - when Greenland was legally ruled as "Denmark's" in 1933, Denmark argued that, since there was geological evidence that pointed to Hans Island being part of Greenland, Hans Island should also belong to Denmark.

Olve Guldberg was the Danish Minister of Foreign Affairs in 1973. I have no idea who would have been present during this negotiation over Hans Island but WELCOME TO FANFICTION.

_Kibbeh_ are like fried rolls full of different sorts of things - usually it's meat, like beef or lamb or something like that. DELICIOUS.


End file.
